


Worship

by Xela



Series: Little Black Dress [7]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Slavery, M/M, Master/Slave, Mirror Universe, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Slavery, Worship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-12
Updated: 2013-01-12
Packaged: 2017-11-25 06:47:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/636221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xela/pseuds/Xela
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pavel is allowed to worship his Master.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Worship

Pavel pauses at the threshold, taking in the sight of his Master sprawled naked on the bed, limbs loose. His Master turns towards the sound of the door, head pillowed on his hands. He has a small, secret smile on his face and Ka'al on his skin, a mild but expensive euphoric.

Pavel allows himself to look at his Master, a handsome man by anyone's definitions. He has a broad, well-muscled back lightly marked with old scars. A trim waist and a truly wonderful ass.

A sharp click of his Masters fingers propels Pavel into the room. He kneels by his Master's side, head bowed. Anticipation curls low in his belly and all Pavel wants to do is serve.

"Pavel." His Master's hands lands heavily on Pavel's head, actions slowed by the drugs in his system. Pavel leans into the touch. “C'mere.” Pavel leans in and accepts his Master's kiss, lazily possessive. His body responds, nipples tightening and cock swelling. He moans when his Master drags a nail over his nipple. This is a mood Pavel has yet to experience; there's something luxurious and indulgent in his Master's movements.

“Fuck me.”

It takes a moment for the command to filter through Pavel's mind, as addled as his Master always makes him feel. He's been trained by the best, but all of that fails in the face of his Chosen's presence.

_“Now.”_ The word is sharp, tinged with impatience, and Pavel scrambles to obey. His Master hums in contentment as Pavel settles his weight over his thighs, cock settling into the crease of his Master's ass. He trails his fingers over sharp shoulder blades and knobby vertebra, headed downward. There's a bottle of lube near his Master's hip.

His Master sighs and his hips hitch up as Pavel gently breaches him, fingers trained and sure. He keeps his movements languid and unhurried, reading his Master's mood and setting his pace to match. He rubs against his Master's prostate, cataloging the various sighs and moans and the most minute changes in breath.

“Enough,” his Master orders. Pavel obediently withdraws his fingers and slicks his cock. He takes a moment to compose himself before pressing in. His Master moves back, bearing down and allowing Pavel in, granting him access and permission. Pavel moves steadily, his hips rolling easily. He loses himself in the rhythm, each thrust deep and true.

“Stop.” Pavel obeys, but it's hard. The hardest thing he's had to do in a very, very long time. He holds himself above his Master's supine form, arms trembling, head bowed so his hair almost brushes his Master's shoulders, his cock buried deep in his Master's body. He shudders when his Master tightens around him, toned muscles flexing and clamping down. His Master shifts his hips and Pavel can't fight the whimper that escapes. His body screams at him to move, to thrust and fuck.

“Good boy,” his Master murmurs, laughter in his voice. He keeps up his regime of torture, varying the strength, pressure, and cadence of his internal muscles, moving his hips so Pavel feels a ghost of what he wants so badly.

“Please,” Pavel whispers brokenly. He's getting desperate, his Master's movements driving his control from him. He's been trained to withstand every pain imaginable, suffer gladly at the whims of his Master's desire. But this...this is his weakness, one his Master exploits mercilessly. “Please, Master, Я нуждаюсь—I need...”

His Master levers himself up, hands and knees. Pavel gasps and drops his head to his Master's shoulder, kissing the skin there. “Hard and fast.”

Pavel's hips snap forward. His Master throws his head back and shouts, lips curled into a smile. He rocks back to meet Pavel's thrusts, each one dragging unerringly against his prostate. Pavel reaches down and expertly caresses the hot erection between his Master's legs, touching him just the way Pavel knows his Master loves best. It's not long before he feels his Master nearing the edge, breathing rapid and hips snapping back frantically.

His Master comes with a shout. Pavel's fingers dig into his Master's hips as he fights back following; he hasn't been given permission to come and he struggles to remember that. It seems like an eternity before his Master collapses onto the bed, sweat-slick and panting. Pavel stretches along his back, keeping him warm, cock still hard inside. His Master clenches around him and Pavel tenses, knows it's felt by the tremors of laughter he can feel telegraphed through his Master's body.

Pavel loses track of time, surrounded by heat that occasionally moves in the most torturous ways. He _wants,_ so badly, but he's better than his own desires. More disciplined. 

“Clean me up.” Pavel forces himself to pull out, pull away, and staggers painfully to the bathroom. He wipes his Master down with a warm cloth and then dries him off with a soft towel. When he's done, he kneels by the bed.

“Well done,” his Master slurs, hand twining into Pavel's hair. Pavel smiles, proud at the praise. “We'll talk about your reward in the morning.”

Pavel curls at base of the bed and tries to will his erection away. It's not easy with the feet that keep rubbing against it.


End file.
